


Red Wine (Troubled Nights) - Harry, Snape, Draco, Lucius, Sirius, Remus Pic-Fics

by Bridgette_Hayden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Fan Art, Fanart, Incest, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Possible Mpreg, Possible NonCon, RPS - Freeform, Real People Shipping, Real Person Slash - Freeform, anything goes!, non Canon, possible dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2020-07-29 21:42:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 9,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20089222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bridgette_Hayden/pseuds/Bridgette_Hayden
Summary: Infinite AU glimpses into the lives of all the Harry Potter men. Harry, James, Lucius, Draco, Sirius, and Remus, and others.These fics don’t fit the typical Snarry, Drarry category. They might contain ideas that are too angsty or too serious for those crowds, or other characters altogether. Each chapter is a one-shot, usually inspired by an image. This is where I keep the "pic fics" that don't fit in anywhere else. This is where I get silly as well as sincere, and sometimes just ridiculous.





	1. Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All credit and characters belong to JK Rowling. I make no money. I love them so much, I can't let the storied end.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking about it doesn't help.

Credit: https://www.imgrum.pw/media/1906809747525514671

* * *

He didn't know how to tell his therapist. He didn't know how to explain it. It was just something he did every once in a while. He never thought it would get out of hand. He never thought he'd be hospitalized or have to sit through months of therapy just because one asshole couldn't take no for an answer. And had brought friends.

So what if he wanted to be held down? So what if he wanted it a little rough? Sometimes, he didn't want to have to ask for it out loud. Sometimes he needed that and it wasn't any of their fucking business. One bad night doesn't make him wrong for needing it the way he needs it.

End.


	2. Keeping Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an awkward moment.

Credit: Warner Bros

* * *

Harry kept his eyes forward, ignoring where Sirius' other hand was creeping. His godfather had been locked in Azkaban with dementors for twelve years. If this small contact was all he wanted, he wasn't about to deny Sirius this basic comfort.


	3. Bully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James knows exactly what he's doing.

Credit: Broadstrokes Productions

* * *

James didn't give a damn. It was never about hurting Snape. It was about getting his goddamn attention. It was about not being ignored by him. This was a powerful fucking wizard, and all he wanted, was to shatter Snape's quiet control and make him see that he could be his equal. But no, Snape had to look down his nose at everyone. Snape had to keep his distance, like he didn't want to blemish those beautiful, spell-black robes with the likes of them.

Only James could see the power behind those pitch eyes. Only James knew that silence wasn't helplessness. It was judgement. And only James knew that in his torment of Severus, he was wrestling with an angel. He would get his blessing. He would get his anointment, if he had to rip that magic from Snape's veins. This wizard was going to take him seriously. This wizard was going to take every inch of him.


	4. Stalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A relationship goes south.

Credit: https://thpix.com/media/125326802111240277

* * *

Exhibit A, this photo is presented as evidence by Detective Ryan Kramer. It is presented as proof that Harry Potter did in fact know his stalker two years prior to the home invasion. Many more like this show Mr. Potter turning towards Mr. Cormac McLaggen's camera and deliberately initiating eye contact, which the defendant calls, 'baiting and teasing'.

"Harry knew I was taking pictures of him. As long as I stayed out of his way, it was cool. He let me. It became a thing. Over the course of two years, I felt more and more privileged and invited into his life. You can't tell it, but he was posing for me. It became our thing. I played a role for him. We both pretended that it was dangerous and exciting."

The defendants statement is supported by photos of the two of them at social functions, appearing on friendly terms.

"It was only when he stopped speaking to me, that I took pictures to get his attention. To rekindle what we had. For two years, I was his secret. I wanted it to be open. When he shut me out, I lost it. I didn't know how to handle that kind of rejection. He was this huge, adored person and nobody remembered me. I wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt me. So, on that night, I stopped playing a role and became the real thing. I broke in, and I got my revenge. What's the difference between being paid to do it, and doing it on my own? He knew me and that's all he wanted from me. He just didn't think he'd lose control of the situation."


	5. Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The opposite of decency.

Credit: Mogonagall's Bola (signed)/Warner Bros.

* * *

The curse worked so well, they didn't know which side of Snape they wanted to try first. The front or the back. That sanctimonious, pompous Slytherin wasn't so tough now. Not with James holding one side of his body, and Peter the other. In the forest, both put all their weight on his arms and kept Snape's legs apart at the thighs. All he could do was tremble beneath the prodding of Sirius' tongue, as it lapped the length of him and into him. He gurgled helpless sounds of distress, unable to form solid words as Sirius gnawed like a dog and forced Snape's body to vibrate against his will.

Sirius licked, his mass of curls flopping and concealing what he feasted upon at the centermost point of Snape's body. He thought about doing exactly what James wanted. He wanted to. But he was still too human, and all too aware of what it would do to their friendships if they couldn't handle it.

"Do it, Sirius. Don't hold back, make the change. I wanna see this prick squirm."

Sirius couldn't get enough. The animal in him wanted to cover more surface area and to delve deeper. He wanted to make Snape produce the most shameful sounds he could pull from him. His canine instincts were already dominating his reasoning as his mouth salivated excessively, drenching Snape and sucking tender skin between his lips.

If he did it, he mused, it would officially be the worst thing he'd ever done. He trusted his friends with his life, but there was no going back if he let them see the dog version of himself doing this.

If he showed them what they were asking for, he knew they were likely to never look at him the same way again. He wanted to do it. He was going to do it. He risked a glance at Remus, who was no longer admonishing them, but had grown strangely quiet from his position under a tree. Remus stared, transfixed. And judging by the dangerous look in his' eyes, as he let his pack have the meat they wanted, Sirius knew, the wolf in Remus wanted some too.


	6. Asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tries to keep still.

Credit: Sirius by XxNymphadoraTonksxX, deviantart. com

* * *

He knew that James's son was a grown man. But that didn't make it right. He simply couldn't stop himself from reaching under Harry's blanket. This was the third night, and still the boy pretended to sleep through it all. Even if he never penetrated, he needed the skin. He needed the contact. He needed the taste.

Afterwords, he bent to Harry's ear and whispered, "Thank you, Harry." He just prayed that James could forgive him.


	7. A Toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marriage is a beautiful thing.

image credit: Warner Bros.

* * *

He maintained his poker face. His stare revealed nothing. He winked at the boy as if it were their little joke. As if he weren't really thinking how inexperienced Harry looked for a man of twenty-two, and how he wouldn't mind tugging those trousers down in a dark pantry and giving his arse a tonguing so indecent he'd have Jame's son dripping pearls over the canned goods. He was certain that Harry was still innocent enough to never have had anyone's mouth there. Such a sweet boy.

Yes, a toast to your lovely bride, Harry.


	8. Wedding Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius has a nightcap.

Credit: fanpop.com, Bluekait

* * *

He hadn't meant to spy on them, but he wasn't going to lose sleep over it. He'd paid for the damn wedding, the least he could do was enjoy a scotch by the fire, in the dark, in the comfort of his own home. It served them right for not taking a proper honeymoon, and behaving as if they had the mansion to themselves. From the shadows, Lucius watched his son in-law make love to his son. He had to give Harry credit for knowing what to do with that exquisit equipment of his.

credit: fanpop.com, Bluekait


	9. Not Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pride is painful.

credit: traced to yourslytherinprincess on tumblr

* * *

The officer gave up. He'd seen this too many times before, and the case was too important. This young man was not going to press charges, and he was not going to admit to what had happened to him, though everyone in the precinct knew this distinct kind of shock when they saw it. There was even enough evidence to convict. But the guy stuck to his story, even though the truth spilled from his eyes. They felt sorry for him. Sorry, that he didn't seem to know they were within their rights to go after the proof. To go after a conviction. How to get the information out of him, without having a doctor put on gloves, hold him down, and rape him all over again?


	10. When Violence Is Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s violence in every great orgasm. So why not pepper a little in with the greatest love stories?

Let me know if you can't see the image.

Image credit link: https://www.wattpad.com/632214227-edit-tr%E1%BB%8Dng-sinh-nguy%C3%AAn-so%C3%A1i-phu-nh%C3%A2n-l%C3%A0-tang-thi

* * *

So, a wonderful reader, FanFic_Addict1993, commented on a short story. My reply went places I’d been bottling up for a while.

The real story for this post is here, [Breathing Through My Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710320).

Below is my take on the rougher side of sex in fiction.

This little fic burst from me in something of a sudden rage to get out. It rose up in response to a lot of anti-noncon/rape talk. I was speaking to the hypocrite in people who've convinced themselves that the only sex worth writing about, is sex that's sweet and tender, and everything goes well. That can be great, but don't act like you don't know what an orgasm really is. It's an acceleration of the body and mind that is so aggressive in thrust, that it results in seizures, temporal disruption, loss of motor skills, and disorientation. In short, orgasms are violent! Incredibly pleasurable, but physically violent.

Your vital signs would look the same if you were headed for a head-on collision, only an endorphin high makes the difference. So stop bitching (to the people who bitch) about fics that write it hard. Some people need it that way. We control our emotions all day, it's gonna take more than a snuggle to get to our hearts and convince us to feel powerful emotion. This is why I write noncon/dubcon. If the characters are really vivid, then that dance, that chase, is ecstasy. So sexual violence has a place in a writer's quest for tremendous emotion.

In this fic, Draco mildly demonstrates that. He's saying, 'I need to cry and sex is the only thing that encompasses all the pain, shame, and bliss I feel, that it pushes me over the edge enough to let that happen.'

There's nothing vanilla about the mildest, most romantic orgasm, yet the fiercest noncon haters fill their stories up with them without any thoughts to the involuntary dynamics that make even a consensual encounter dependent on the sublime mechanics of the human body and emotions. The only thing I'm doing, is pausing at that moment that they all gloss over, and prolonging it. I turn it into a story. I take the storm of that moment, where thought cannot be processed in the usual ways, and build character, setting, and plot.

Don't look at my themes as if I'm doing something beneath you (noncon haters). You like the surface of sex, I like the depths. I was underage once, and too inhibited to act on my feelings. At no time did I want to be a victim. But I used my fantasies to create scenarios where inhibited characters attracted "villains" who would give them the physical contact they wanted, and the protagonist could remain blameless and sustain the illusion of hating it all. In real life, this is the stuff of political-correctness nightmares, but to my fourteen year-old self, this was the stuff that made me want to live and tell stories that inspired tremendous emotion. You don’t give up your passion just because others don’t know how to play nice in the real world.

Aggressive sex, when done with characters who have souls, is just a variation on the noncon theme. At the heart of noncon, are emotions that want to get out. Please stop putting down writers who need to write this. They just need a place to put their tears and their love. For us, well-written noncon is the sweet spot, and we can finally let ourselves cry for the tragic characters trapped in its ecstasy. Which, by the way, is written to look like pain because, well, think of what people's facial expressions look like when they're climaxing. It's not pretty. So I don't show pretty when I write a noncon scenes. I show intensity. (The best representation I have for this, is Masterpiece – Severus).

I couldn't get certain readers to see that flirtation with sexual pain in fantasy, has NOTHING to do with real life victimization. NOTHING. It's strong sexual emotion. In mainstream thinking, the hero gets to beat the shit out of the bad guy, and we all cheer. In my stories, someone who can't allow themselves sexual release, finally gets to do so under tremendous duress. These stories aren't written with a good-guy/bad-guy formula, and require a depth of storytelling that BDSM can't come close to satisfying.

I blurred the lines by letting Draco be aware of his need for aggression in bed. In almost every story I write, the reoccurring theme is 'Being relieved of accountability and responsibility for indulging in something that's inappropriate, but is very much desired as far as raw pleasure and emotion is concerned.' No one can blame the victim for being a victim. It's a useful tool in fiction, and only in fiction. It comes from being fourteen, a virgin, and fascinated by what adults do, yet too young and too insecure to participate. Decades later, this whole combination makes for the best emotional experiences, that I tailor them to fit my mature interests as a writer.

This is so good to me, I don’t want a story where the sex is perfectly agreeable and there are no problems. Not really. I can go outside and stare at flowers for that. I want a deep emotional investment. Stories don’t need noncon for this, but that’s just where I bring out the most love, ironically enough.

I have to cut this off here, I’ve been a little under the weather, and tend to ramble. Thank you to FanFic_Addict1993, if she’s in this group, for helping me to say what I wanted to say.


	11. Dark Messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Different angels have different functions. Some of them are warriors.

Credit: signed AKOHNT and found only on facebook (by me).

* * *

The holiest of angels will curse you, will burn you, will flood all of life on your planet, and will kill you dead, if given orders to do so. Severus is that kind of an Angel. As deadly as he is beautiful. But since death isn’t the end, perhaps when he strikes, it will be the end of one life, and the beginning of another. Don’t make him show you his wings. You wouldn’t like him, if he has to show you his wings.


	12. David *Leer*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David Thewlis has a sense of humor that went under the radar.

Credit link: https://gfycat.com/wetfirmghostshrimp

* * *

Sometimes actors use subtext. David Thewlis knew what the hell he was doing. This is a sexual leer and no one can tell me any differently. It is David’s own joke, and completely out of the context of the moment. I’d look at Sev like that too. :-)Thanks, David! 


	13. Burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus lets go.

Image credit: The Letter by lolapuka, deviantart.com

* * *

It took place in this room. He still had the letters to prove he wasn't crazy. James swore it was an accident. He hadn't meant to lose control. He hadn't meant to ignore Sev’s discomfort. He swore he hadn't meant to go that far.

Head bowed, shoulder's humbled, his anguish seemed real enough to Severus. Back then, he still had a heart. He was still quick to forgive. It was only after, when James's identity became completely compromised as he showed off for his friends, that forgiveness felt too much to ask of Severus. James was a man torn in half, between his love for his wild friends, and his fascination with the sullen young man, whom they loved to make fun of. Severus was an easy target.

But in the shadows, when he had Severus cornered, no one was laughing. He begged and kissed and pleaded with Severus to understand that his jokes meant nothing. When their secret meetings began to resemble attacks more than they did lovemaking, Severus knew he'd come to an impasse in their relationship. The world would never know that James Potter once looked upon him with favor and desire. His own vanity hated to destroy the evidence of that treasure, but the letters had to be destroyed. They were his last link to a life he had to say good-bye to. He'd made up his mind to accept the Dark Lord's tattoo. And once he did, he could no longer have attachments that kept him vulnerable. Lily and James were engaged. James had made his choice. That meant he had to make his.

He read James's letter one last time, before setting fire to it. Its lies died in the ashes.


	14. Coming Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is only a pic of Tom's first onscreen kiss with a man, no story yet. I'm leaving it here so that I HAVE to get back to it.

Credit: The movie, Whaling (link: https://vimeo.com/358248538?fbclid=IwAR30XF2k71glbBByssWUfO-1cBw7sRFV1yTZGKLWVgJwogMWKknt2ggJui8)

Thanks to Randi Wininger for the photos to the right.

* * *

This fic hasn't been written yet, but you bet your ass I'm inspired! Update: I actually have written stuff for this pic, but the story that wants to come is so much more complicated than what I can express right now. I think I'm wanting to see the movie before I decide on some things. Do I want to use Tom's character, or the actor himself in an RPF? There's a bigger story here and it's not time to write it yet.


	15. Sample

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU, in which Sirius is a cop. Harry is detained. (WARNING: FLIRTS WITH RAPE/NON-CON THEME!!!!)

Image Credit: Warner Bros.

* * *

Special Agent, Sirius Black, kept silent as he stared at the young man on the other side of the glass. Darkly fair, brooding behind glasses, the suspect made no attempt to hide his irritation. Sirius suppressed his true appreciation. It was a shame, a guy like that had no idea how good looking he was. He supposed he lingered at the window for the wrong reasons, but damn, he wasn’t getting any younger and with each new wrinkle, each pound gained, men like that stirred his regret for taking life so fucking seriously. Beautiful people pissed him off. He didn’t know which was worse, them not realizing what they had in terms of power, or them realizing it and lording it over the rest. He wasn’t insecure himself, he rather knew he had an elegance to his madness, and kept his mane quaffed and his mustache clipped to distinction. But this boy, this man, was precisely what did it for him. 

Behind Black, his colleagues debated.

“I’m telling you, it’s Harry Potter. The wizard,” Corbin Yaxley sounded certain. He’d only been chasing the legendary youth for two years. Harry was seventeen the last time any reliable photo was taken of him. This guy, with hair in his eyes, in a simple T-shirt, jacket and jeans, could’ve been anyone off the street. Except, except for the energy coming off of him. Black, having come from a family of magic, couldn’t always see the power of other wizards. Especially when they were clever enough to mask it. But he could feel it. That’s what made him request magical restraints. That alloy crap simply wouldn’t hold this guy.

At first the young man had fought. When they had him down, Black pushed the guy’s hair out of his eyes and seen the false coloring. Eye drops had no effect on those brown irises, but a spectrum mirror, held close to him, revealed their true color. It was then that he’d stopped fighting and asked for a lawyer. They could only hold him on suspicion for so long. They had to prove that this kid was a wizard. Since he wasn’t cooperating, Black only knew of one way to do that. 

“And I’m telling you,” Sergeant Lupin responded, “There’s no scar. No identifying marks. He’s four inches taller, and he says he doesn’t know what we’re talking about. If we touch him without cause, it’s our asses. The Governor is schmoozing with these Ministry people. If we’ve got the wrong guy, they have the ability to wipe us out and replace everyone in here.” 

The argument had been going on for some time. Wizards were tricky. An entirely new technology had to be developed just to identify and work alongside them. They wanted to remain hidden. Black understood what it meant to be targeted by fearful muggles, who’d just assumed that anything more powerful than them, had to be dangerous. It was the witch hunts all over again. Kill them before they kill you, was still a prevalent superstition. He understood why Harry wanted to remain hidden, but too much was riding on Muggle and Wizard relations, in the political world. Europe wanted their legendary prince back, whether he wanted to be found or not. 

Black, himself had been the one to try to explain to Harry that he wasn’t a criminal, but he’d likely be deported. 

“Your people want you back pretty badly. I don’t know if they’ve made up the charges or what, but your best course of action would be to come clean about your identity and get a lawyer. They’re going to take you back, either way. If you cooperate, the Governor may be able to help you legitimize your citizenship at a later date.”

Harry’s distrust met Black squarely. “I don’t trust any government, and I haven’t done anything wrong. My visa has not expired. I’m perfectly legal.”

“If you’re who you say you are. But if you’re a wizard, your visa was issued illegally.” He ignored the scowl. “Since you won’t tell us, we have no other choice but to determine that for ourselves.” 

“You have no right to detain me.”

“Your country has issued an international search for you. If we don’t hand you over, and it’s proven that we knew who you were, this could go to the highest level of government. Parliament could construe it as an act of war, that we did not hand you over. What is it about you, that has a nation so hostile? You say you’re not a wizard. But I say, only wizards get that passionate about magic. I’m from a pureblood family, myself. I moved here to get away from that insanity, and I see you are trying to do the same. Get the lawyer. Free yourself from inside the system. It might take years before you can come back here, but at least you’ll do so without a manhunt to stop you.”

Harry turned away. Black felt his disgust at the positive outlook. Here was a young man who had no hope left in the system. Any system. 

That was three hours ago and the clock was counting down. They had to make a decision. 

Without turning from the glass, Black announced to the others. “My gut tells me that we’ve got a wizard in there. We all know what we have to do.”

The others fell quiet. Nobody wanted to do that. It never felt right. Not even when it was perfectly safe and legal. 

“Get the box. Call the doctor.”

It wasn’t a box, but everyone knew what he meant. The instrument sat in a black box, stored in the weapon’s cage, along with the tasers. The department had petitioned for a select brigade to be the ones to use it, but since it was seldom used, that request had fallen through. If someone suggested using the _oaubatron_, that same person was looked upon as having done the dirty work. Most people couldn’t sleep at night after witnessing it. Black, who had been withholding the mention of it, because he liked looking at Harry a little too much, intended to sleep like a kitten. 

The oaubatron was technically a medical instrument, with benign uses in a clinical environment. Here, it was used to extract seminal fluid from uncooperative suspects, for testing. From rape victims, to fertility issues, to testing the potency of a wizard’s magic, the oaubatron had one main function. To mechanically draw a man’s sperm out of him through a series of controlled electrical shocks, whether he was willing to give it up or not. That content was then put under a microscope centrifuge and separated into its most basic components, measured with radiation feedback, and given a score that designated any radical components as indicative of magic. In short, a wizard’s power collected sub-atomically, in his sperm. That discovery was fairly new to the modern world, but had been the source of terrible hearsay and secrecy in fringe societies for centuries. When the Meagan Vs. Whittacore case accepted evidence of such findings, a decade ago, the court case legitimized the use of radiation-rating, to prove the existence of magic in a man. The same worked just as well with a woman’s unfertilized egg, but was harder to obtain. 

For legal reasons, all sorts of people had to be in the room. Up until five years ago, the administer of the procedure had to be a licensed doctor. Black, like all the agents in the room, was certified. But he didn’t feel his hands were steady enough. In truth, he knew that he was probably going to get a perverse buzz out of seeing this wizard-on-the-run react to the device, so it was in Harry’s best interest if he wasn’t the one performing it. He tried to be as decent as he could about these things. Still, this was a pretty stubborn young man and the opportunity to enjoy the “dirty work” didn’t come along that often. 

Lupin was adamant. “Then you go in there and tell him what’s about to be done. It’s going to be your signature on those papers.” He knew the drill. He knew that every suspect had to be told exactly what was going to happen, like reading their rights to them. And that the procedure was not as simple as it sounded. There were risks. There could be pain. Lawsuits. Nerve damage, not to mention the sheer trauma of it. It depended on how much of a fight Harry put up. Were they going to have to strap him down, or could he remain handcuffed to the chair? 

“Fine, I’ll sign. The kid’s gonna fight. Tell the doc to bring a tranquilizer.” 

It was supposed to be a five minute procedure. Black entered the interrogation room with the physician, his sergeant, a public defender, three other agents, and five officers for backup, just in case they stood a chance against magic, who stood around the fringes of the room. He sat down and faced Harry, and gently explained to him what was about to happen. 

He noticed that the young man refused to acknowledge him, refused to look up, until he spelled it out. Harry leaned forward, elbows on the table, and nodded like he was drowning out the sound of Black’s voice with music. They needed him to sign a consent, or film his decline to sign. 

“Do you understand what I’m telling you? This is hard enough as it is. If you don’t cooperate and sign a sample over, then we have to document your refusal. We have to film everything, which could be played back to a jury in a court of law.”

Harry’s jaw set. Black almost enjoyed it. Almost. It was obvious that this fellow wasn’t afraid of him and wasn’t taking him seriously. He would’ve liked to believe that Harry was tough and knew exactly what he was getting himself into, but that didn’t ring true. 

“Son, nobody wants to do this to you. It’s degrading. You could tell us the truth, you could volunteer a medical sample. You’d be given privacy, to a degree. Listen, ignore me all you want, but do you understand that you are going to be forcibly held down while this doctor does what he has to do to get a sample from you?” 

Harry’s color faded and his head was no longer bopping to an unheard beat. In fact, he looked a little green when he brought his eyes up to Black. “There’s nothing you can really do to me. If I have to go to jail, I’ll go. But I won’t voluntarily put shackles on myself. Whatever you’re going to do, I won’t help you do it.”

“We’re not your enemy.”

“Then let me go.”

“Are you the wizard, Harry Potter?”

The guy’s mouth compressed. His brow tightened on dark thoughts that wafted off of him like smoke. 

“Are you magic?”

Harry shook his head, but it didn’t look like he was answering the question, as much as it looked like denying the answer.

“Then I’m sorry.” Black stood, and let the officers around him do their job. Harry lifted his gaze just as they approached and looked like he wanted to say something more, to make an appeal, but something like angry panic, kept him from doing so. The others moved in as he turned his back to Harry. 

He watched from a distance, and tried to remain as neutral to what he witnessed, as much as possible. That wasn’t easy. They’re never prepared, those state victims, no matter how much you explain the procedure to them. The most cooperative of men, require some restraint, even if it’s just gripping the chair tightly. Others, handcuffs. The worst, a bed and straps. The current sent along erectile tissue, starts mild, but is enough to slam a large man’s spine into rod-straight rigidity, while his other limbs shake until the ordeal is over. 

The real shock comes from Harry’s inability to free himself from the men who overtake him. He doesn’t take a swing, like he obviously wants to, but then, he doesn’t have time. The men are not officers, they are orderlies, and handle him with militant efficiency. They do not let him rise from his chair, though he tries to do so. He’s held there with a firmness that is strong enough to keep him in place, but loose enough to absorb the shock of his flailing arms and legs. He fights through the shot that is supposed to tranquilize him. He curses and his struggles become weaker, but he does not stop fighting. 

He looks down, with everyone else, at two sets of large, orderly hands unraveling his belt and opening his jeans. One stuffs its way inside. He looks with disbelief, as his penis is pulled right out and handled with the most clinical detachment. He begins name calling and shouting slurs against these men. His face is red and he’s shaking from the harm he wants to inflict. The attending physician removes the oaubatron from its case, performs a perfunctory sanitizing charge by pressing a button, then squeezes a dollop of conduction ointment into the barrel of the device. 

The instrument is shaped like a tube with a trigger. It has a hard, external canister on the outside, and a soft, skin simulator on the inside. It heats to body temperature and turns the artificial lubrication applied, into a warm liquid lining that amplifies electrical impulses sent to the entire surface area of nerves, and injects them under the skin for maximum extraction of the ejaculate. It contains a motor and three sets of banded “muscles” woven throughout the length, that churn against each other to grip and slide the penis as well as send pulses. It has adjustable speeds and grip strengths, all controlled by the physician. In the wrong hands, it has been used as a torture device, and this is what Black thinks of when he watches the middle-aged doctor take Harry’s penis in hand. 

Harry can’t go anywhere, though his hips try. He’s making noises now that express a different kind of distress, and this is where most officers turn away. Black forces himself to look, because he gave Harry a chance, and there’s something about the way he’s hyperventilating, flushing, and going all red in the nose and mouth, that make his helplessness all the more transparent, that hypnotizes him. 

He wants to grab Harry and take him from this place. Spare him this public trial by fire, for a more private one. Fear makes Harry look far younger than nineteen, and Black finds that exciting. Harry’s muscles flex to take flight, but remain pinned under the efforts of those larger men. He’s gurgling and spewing saliva and nonsense now. His name calling has gotten more obscene, and hysterics have taken over his voice. It was one thing to hold up in one’s room with one of these toys, but to have a gangbang thrust upon you from a lineup of uniformed men, who pulled you out of your pants like they owned you, and have it all filmed, was always more than sane individuals could take. Harry’s face crumples on emotion he can’t hide.

Black slips into his imagination, he can’t help it, and there he lets Harry put up a great fight. It’s only fair. He’s about to be raped by the system, he has a right to protect himself, even if it amounts to the same fuck-over in the end. Let him say that he fought. 

The physician's hands are twitchy with loose skin. What they lack in reflex, they overcompensate with firm confidence. Harry is handled like a puppy being picked up by its scruff. That is to say, he is securely grasped while the sheath of the oaubatron is pushed over his circumcised crown. He jerks from the shock. He does not have to have an erection to fit into the device. The man grasping him, does so with the necessary determination, that enough swelling is produced to manipulate his entry. His excess force pinches, and the reaction is nothing more than smarting blood vessels. Harry makes a whining noise when the device is fully enveloping him. Its little gears whirl into a soft buzz as the physician speeds up the setting, and Harry groans, startled out of his anger, at the pull on his skin.

No doubt, those little gears were sending vibrations to the nucleus of his nervous system, and the way he squirmed confirmed it. He whimpered over the physician’s mutterings and the older man gave instructions to place a bite guard into Harry’s mouth. The black piece resembles a thin rubber bar, not the athletic mouthpieces Black is familiar with. 

He tried not to be aroused by this. He really tried. But this was real life restraint, sex, voyeurism, and it was perfectly legal. Ten men could do whatever they wanted to this beautiful young man, and the law was going to let them. By the time he saw water seep out of the corners of Harry’s distressed, and squeezed tightly closed eyes, he was practically coming in his pants. The boy’s lips were so red and so angry. 

Several speeds were tested to see which Harry was more responsive to. They had the sound of the gears, but everyone could also tell when the electrical pulses were given, as Harry’s body lost all concerted movement and jerked erratically to streams of current that played him like a marionette. If the orderlies weren’t holding him, he would’ve flopped on the floor like an epileptic fish. From the anguished sounds behind his bite guard, he despised every second of it. 

He lasted far longer than anyone might’ve supposed. Another indication, to Black at least, that they were dealing with a wizard. No ordinary person could’ve held back that long. What was supposed to have taken five minutes, took fifteen. Twenty minutes would’ve been considered torture and breaking the law. When a man does not want to come, and is forced to do so, his muscular propulsion locks on itself, and grinds like rusted gears. Charged pulses stripped the lock on Harry’s body and pulled slippery motion out of his control. His climax was not natural, and choked him with a series of them that no man should’ve had to endure. They were mechanical and overly-stimulated. Their artificial mechanics were administered by a man who could not feel what Harry was going through, nor gauge the subtleties required to let him get any enjoyment from it. The physician did his job. He watched Harry’s body go through the motions without batting an eye, but with a kind of fatherly regard, as if watching a troubled youth get arrested for the umpteenth time and being too jaded to intervene. 

Black felt Harry’s sobs in his chest, and wished he could help him. In his mind, he coaxed, ‘Don’t fight it, that just makes it worse. He’ll use more juice than necessary. That’s not fun, that’s torture.’

Still, Harry resisted. 

‘Give it up, Harry. Let him have it. I promise we’ll leave you alone. Hell, I’m tempted to sneak you out of here myself. As soon as these assholes are gone, I’ll do what I can. I’ll hold you. For god’s sake, come. Just come. Let go!’

In the end, what Harry withheld, was torn from him in such an unnatural way, that it came with screams. Screams of defeat. His emission pummeled him so, he could no longer fight, and the orderlies did not have to use their full strength to hold him down. The physician got more than what he needed in the way of samples, and had to administer a painkiller so that Harry could uncurl and lay flat on the floor where they placed him. He’d be given an overnight hospital stay, for observation, just in case they’d hurt him. 

Black saw his opportunity in that. He stayed back when the ambulance came. He stayed out of everyone’s way. He waited till the doctors confirmed that Harry was sleeping in a private room. He waited till the staff was down to their skeleton crew, and snuck Harry out. It took two days before Harry would speak to him. It took another two to drive him further North, to Canada, and make sure that his colleagues believed the story of how Harry had eluded hospital security. Wizards were like that. When the tests came back positive, no one doubted that Harry had escaped of his own free will. 


	16. Difficult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus wants Sirius to be happy. Honestly, he does. But he’s not entirely comfortable with what’s being asked of him. 
> 
> WARNING: for unspeakable content. I can’t bring myself to use “that label” because there’s too much humanity in my perspective, and a blanket label would cause me to miss out on something I’d rather not miss out on (if I were the reader). Don’t read if you can’t handle topics more socially shunned than rape. Now all of this setup is going to make things anti-climactic. This is just a slice of bizarre pie. As a writer, I have to poke at things I’m not supposed to poke at. It’s what I do.

Credit to Warner Bros.

Source links: https://ja.fanpop.com/clubs/sirius-and-remus/images/26217193/title/lupin-black-harry-potter-prisoner-azkaban-photo

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Remus wakes up to it. His teeth are already gritting, and he hasn’t even opened his eyes. He hates it that much. But Sirius loves it, so he holds still. As still as he can, which takes all of his control, and doesn’t stop the spasms that escape his squeeze against them. 

He’s tried to understand himself. He’s tried to fight down the revulsion. Too much heat in one place, with all that slime, all that wet gluttony, producing helpless whimpers in him, was humiliating. He didn’t care how much Sirius loved him. Facing this part of himself was too much. At least with the wolf, he was strong, fearless. But this, that slathering thing going places no one was ever meant to go on the human body, covering more surface area than a human mouth could cover, was too much. It reduced him to a child, and his adult sense of self-preservation, couldn’t handle being reduced to a puddle of skin and various fluids. No matter how good it felt. 

But he doesn’t say this. He tries to keep quiet. Not exactly quiet, because he can’t. But he doesn’t argue. There’s no use arguing with Sirius. It was his birthday and this was the present he’d wanted. He’d been kind enough to warn Remus that this birthday morning was coming. Weeks ago, their lovemaking had climbed to its summit, as dawn turned from gray to gold and became a backdrop for what was really on Sirius’ mind. 

“Just lay there.” Sirius’ voice had gone hoarse, yet retained that bit of smokey contentment. They were soaked in a healthy sheen of sweat, and he’d coaxed Remus to remain on his stomach. He nestled against his back like it was a floor pillow, and spoke just behind his ear. “Do nothing, and let me worship you.”

It was one of those talks that took place in the afterglow. They were still too heady to want to leave the bed. In other words, when Remus was at his most vulnerable. 

He’d wondered. Why wasn’t this enough for Sirius? For him, living with lycanthropy, to have someone who actually wanted him and was in love with him, meant everything. Why did Sirius have to be so bold and fearless about everything? He knew that Remus was practical, and drew the line at a lot of things. Number one, the wolf was never allowed in bed. Since that part of him was unpredictable, they engaged in nothing that would provoke the wolf. But Sirius had to always push his luck. He wouldn’t be Sirius if he didn’t.

“You don’t have to do anything. It’s your gift to me.”

“As I recall, I give you my so-called gift, whenever you ask for it. To do anything more is reckless and irresponsible.”

“What, you’re afraid you’ll turn and the wolf will hurt me? I’m padfoot. I can handle you. I’d stun you and apparate us to our safe place. I know the drill. Come on. Please?”

It wasn’t a short, polite ‘please.’ It was a long, drawn out ‘please’ that came with huge, warm brown eyes, intoxicating good looks, and a grin more charming than all the spells he knew. It was torture, the inability to say no to Sirius and stick to it. Why couldn’t he see that he really didn’t want to do this? Because Sirius could be a selfish bastard, that’s why. But he was his selfish bastard, and well worth putting up with. It’s just that, when it came time to pay up, Remus still had a great deal of struggle about it. Sirius was the source of all his happiness, yet there were times when he had to be the responsible one and tell him no. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” 

Sirius had kissed his neck so softly. Below the waist, he was behaving himself. But the brush of his lips did more to make Remus ultra aware of his readiness to go again, than the nudge he felt elongating on the slope of his ass. Sirius’ demand for him, evidenced by his weight, his draping of those toned tattoos and tight muscles along the length of Remus’ backside, said everything. Was everything. And Remus could’ve stayed that way all morning, had he not pressed for more. His kisses grew longer and lower as he talked. 

“Be honest. Does it disgust you? You can tell me.”

“No, it’s not that. I had to get past such things a long time ago. You know as well as I do, that when you become an animal, you become one. Instincts and all. That’s why we’re good together. It’s just that…”

“Yes?” He kissed one shoulder. The center between them. Then the other. 

Remus squirmed, in spite of having been kissed by him like that many times before. This was not new, yet he never got used to it. What did that mean?

“It’s so wrong.”

“And so delicious. It’s my favorite. If it wasn’t my birthday coming up, I wouldn’t ask. I do make an effort to respect your boundaries. You shouldn’t be so scrumptious. When we’re alone, that’s our time to be who we really are. Let our beasts run wild.”

“Sirius.” He shook his head, unable to reason with that kind of determination. He spent his life suppressing the wolf. Of course he wanted to be free. But the price was too high. 

“And do you know what my favorite part is? It’s not even what I feel, it’s watching you lose your fucking mind. I want the wolf to come out. I want you to feel so bloody good, that you can’t hold him back.” 

“That’s way too dangerous. I’ll not risk it.”

“Take your meds then. But let me have my fun. At no other time do I get to see you lose control. Except for the wolf, and he’s not the one I want to see going to pieces beneath me. You’re so clever all the time. You always know what path to take. You have no idea what it does to me to see you not knowing how to handle getting your mind bent like that. Even when I’m inside you, giving it everything I’ve got, you don’t act like you’re losing it. When I’m doing that, you show me a Remus who is being fucked out of his mind. I know that’s not polite. It’s not the done thing, but gods, it’s beautiful.”

“Sirius.”

“Please. I rarely ask for this.”

“You don’t know what it feels like. Those orgasms hurt. Men are not meant to come like that. It’s like that extra layer of fat that women have. Their bodies are the only ones meant to endure that kind of stress, during childbirth and multiple orgasms. I like to believe it’s nature’s way of compensating them for having to be the ones to bear children. I wouldn’t do it either, not without a very good incentive.”

Sirius grinned, taking the criticism like a compliment. “Your orgasms hurt? I think I just heard the wolf call you a wimp. Yeah, I’m sure they hurt to a prim, understated, soft-spoken professor, like yourself. You’re always so reserved, ‘cause you’re protecting everyone from the wolf. But if you ran your body’s magic wide open more often you’d be more comfortable letting it shoot out of you. No apologies. That’s how I want to see you.”

He makes it sound so appealing, and Remus feels those kisses lower as Sirius moves down the length of him. Sirius knows that the small of Remus’ back is extra sensitive and Remus has to hold his breath as he adds tongue to the gentle press of his lips. 

“You’re the devil,” he tells Sirius. 

“You know it.”

This day, the day of Sirius’ birthday, is almost identical to that one. The only difference is that they haven’t made love yet. So all the juice is pent up. Touch is anxious and demanding, eager and salivating. It’s time to pay up. It’s a small price to pay for love. It’s nothing. Or it shouldn’t be. He’s on his stomach, because that’s a great way to sleep. He starts curled against Sirius, but often wakes spreadeagle. Sirius has taken his favorite position atop his back. 

Remus doesn’t consent. He never really did. He just kept explaining and explaining, and doing everything in his power to keep from telling Sirius ‘no.’ Now there isn’t time to say it. Sirius is there before he’s hardly woken. There’s no clarity for discussion. There’s only mindless sensation as Sirius manipulates his way further down, venturing into dark, shadowy crevices. Remus tries not to think about the scents coming off of him. He wants a shower, but the whole point of waking up to this, is to let Sirius enjoy those gamey scents in a way that humans cannot. 

Remus endures it. He’s keenly aware of when the gentle tickle of tongue becomes quite extensive in its reach. Where it trailed moisture before, it soon lavishes sloppy wet licks over the soft, vulnerable places of Remus’ genitals. All he can really do is hang on and clutch his pillows. Sirius starts in good, and he has to clench his muscles to keep from coming out of his skull and off the bed. He can tell that Sirius has changed, not just by what he feels, but by Sirius’ sense of timing. A human would wait. A human would adjust his touch in anticipation of what his partner was feeling. Not Sirius, not when he took that form. 

Remus’ legs wanted to close, to choke off that much heat, that soon, but he can’t keep Sirius’ muzzle out of his crack. It’s a canine’s cold nose and eager chomp that sloshes past the grip of his ass cheeks. They tighten, and still the creature that Sirius has become, charges right through Remus’ defenses. Eager panting interspersed with the slap of wet smacks and loud licking, assault Remus’s ears. He can’t stop his body from rejecting it. And he can’t stop his body from letting it in. He hated the way this disgusting, filthy, and barbaric act felt. He hated that Sirius’ need for it, shamed them both. It proved that he would never overcome the animal inside himself. It proved that he was an outcast for a reason. He hated it for many reasons, but most of all, he hated it because he wanted it. 

As Sirius went rabid between his legs, Remus clutched his pillow. His legs shook and his calves bent into the air, toes extended and straining. He buried his face, muffled his screams, and hid his tears. They were equal parts bliss and shame. 

* * *

Note: I didn't even scratch the surface of what I really wanted to say. This will crop up again. It's more about watching an ultra sensitive man cope with unbearable emotions and pleasure. The animal aspect is just another color used to paint a desired effect. 


	17. Subway Tiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's exciting to be underground. Terrifying, but exciting.  
WARNING: Real Person Slash (Tom Felton)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: No disrespect to Mr. Tom Felton. May he never see this. It’s more about his depraved fans than it is about him. I needed his beautiful essence to face things I couldn't face otherwise. <3

Subway source link unknown, found on Facebook. Requested by Ms. Bontempi

Tom's gif: From the movie Whaling, produced by Charlie Baby Productions and Narrator Entertainment. The other gentleman is rumored to be Austin Swift, but I don't see it. You can comment to let me know the actor's name. 

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It was just a passing thought. One that Tom entertained every time he saw the acronym accompanying the 42 St/Bryant Park stop. Not even on his most reckless nights, would he do it on purpose. You know, show up at 3 AM, when all the tunnel dwellers and lost souls were out haunting the trains. He quite liked a little adventure, but some of those people were filthy, and that’s what put him off every time. So fucking sad. Every time he passed by the BDSM sign, he wondered if it were real, or if someone couldn’t pass up putting decals there to get their kicks. The sign went perfect with the tiles. Those tiles did more to escort his mind right to the gutter, than those famous letters. 

The tiles were dingy, shiny-wet looking, and just asking for a black light. They looked like they could be hosed down easily, because filthy things should be easy to clean. And they’d be even filthier before he was done with them. At 3 AM, no one was going to hang around to ask questions. No one needed a cuddle. Just a quick, hot attack, in the worst way, from an anonymous mouth that didn’t need to know your name. Those tiles would be splattered. Couldn’t be helped. He toyed with the idea. 

Right there. That corner. God knows there were nights when he just wanted to try it. To see what it was like. To be unknown, to be hidden in the shadows, getting it with someone who didn’t give a damn about who he was. Who just wanted his body like it was the best thing they’d ever had. He wanted it to feel so good, it left him incapable of forming thought. Forming a conscience. There had been evenings when the only thing that stopped him, was the health aspect. He wasn’t fucking sacrificing his life to a hot grope, no matter how good it was. But if he could be sure… If he had a way of guaranteeing his safety, his health, and his anonymity, he’d let it happen. He’d let the baddest motherfucker down here, have a go. Hell, he might even try them all out, if they didn’t gang up on him. Maybe let himself have one a month. He didn’t need reckless sex like that, but he needed adventure. Intimate, death defying adventure. The idea of being taken by a man was the only thing that still scared him. 

He was addicted to the excitement, but couldn’t separate it from the fear. So he had to deal with both. And whenever he passed the 42 St/Bryant subway sign, which advertised what that space could really be good for, his mind went there. For just a moment, he was pressed against the wall so hard, sandwiched between tiles and the chest of a man twice his size. Others stood in the shadows watching. To be really good, it had to be overpowering, or he’d run. In his best fantasies, the guy’s friends held him to the wall. He didn’t know how that would work, or if it was even possible, but it let him release all kinds of anger that couldn’t break through at any other time. He didn’t know from experience, but when someone was driving a dick, with 250 pounds of man-tork up your ass, you had every right to cry without having your fucking manhood questioned. Especially when it wasn’t your fault. 

He wouldn’t be expected to hold back. He’d scream, ‘Fuck you! Get off!’ But he wouldn’t mean it. He wouldn’t have to mean it. Finally, he could let go. Every scream he’d ever suppressed, was allowed to come out then. And oh, there’d be hands that weren’t his, giving him so much squeezing slippage and lip-biting, toying strokes, that he couldn’t be held accountable for what he left on those tiles. 

It wouldn’t be his fault. That was the best part. It wouldn’t be his fault. 

Whenever he shuffled through the station, passing the BDSM acronym that vandalized the place, that’s what it made him think. The moment was no more than passing through a shadow, a tunnel. Once he was back on the streets, he left the fantasy down there with all the trains. It was just a passing thought. 

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(To be continued… in another pic fic that I have in mind) :-) 


	18. Family Dynamics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's Unbearable story gets a new summary and a "book cover." It's going to be hell, but the Malfoys and the Potters will have to admit they're all one big family. As far as Severus is concerned, happiness is optional. Just don't fuck with his granddaughter.

FULL NOVEL SUMMARY

After the war, Harry and Draco did the best they could, clinging to one another for safety and sanity. With a daughter to raise, and Draco standing by his side, Harry works with the ministry to rebuild the Wizarding world and to inspire a new generation while healing the older one. He thinks he escaped in one piece and tells himself he’s one of the lucky ones. But as he and Draco face the ramifications of survival, it becomes clear that he’s still running for his life.

There are many things to run from. One horrible night, one unspeakable curse, and the lies that he and his friends told so that he would never have to publicly face any of it. With Voldemort out of the way, an unknown terrorist force wants him dead. Their attacks always seem to be thwarted by a greater presence watching over his every move. Against all odds, his life continues to be a never ending vault of danger and miraculous luck. Luck, he attributes to the one man he cannot readily face and thank for all the help given to him. Snape is dead and he tries to accept that, only something in his heart won’t. Someone keeps saving his life. And he knows that Snape was too smart to die the death that everyone insists upon. Yet he must face the future without reconciling all that he’s learned about him since that time.

Keeping Lucius Malfoy away from the daughter he unintentionally fathered, takes up most of Harry’s time. He and Draco have run from shelter to shelter, to flee Lucius’s morbid curiosity for her. Harry is still fighting for those he loves. Now that Draco is added to that list, Draco is caught in the middle of the conflict between Harry and his parents. He has a baby sister to protect, and sides with Harry as they both call themselves her father and navigate the bitter-sweet strain of what their relationship has become. They are no longer enemies, but allies who have been moving too fast to let love take root. When they slow down, they will be forced to face the complications of their relationship. True feelings are hidden behind a partnership that has to be respected first. Business first. Sex later. Their survival depends on it. It will take their entire journey to see that they are blessed with so much more.

The two are no longer the same since being affected by the Unbearable curse, which stunted their adolescent vitality and demolished their bachelorhoods. It’s been two years after the war and their make-shift family looks like an oasis to Lucius, who is free from Azkaban and sits with his wife in an empty mansion, waiting for Draco to provide them with heirs. Lucius waits to be forgiven for a crime he does not regret, while Narcissa dreams of regaining her former social standing, once she has Harry’s little girl in her arms. To them, the child’s blond traits spectacularly advertise both Malfoy and Black legacies. Except for her eyes. No one can figure out where those dark eyes come from.

The child, Iece, is proof of hereditary contracts of magic that unify all conflict and heal all loss. To Narcissa, her new blood not only redeems them but rewards them by uniting with Harry’s magic, which has proven to be superior in the face of Voldemort’s defeat. Who knew? Narcissa is suddenly proud to be related to Harry and can’t wait to rub it in the faces of all who denounced her family.

When work for the Ministry provides Harry with clues of Snape’s survival, he becomes determined to find him. That pursuit puts him at odds with Draco and his daughter, yet holds the key to unlocking a happier way of life for them all. Harry will reach a point when finding Snape becomes integral, and not a choice at all. His search will take him back to Hogwarts. He will push his way into his former teacher’s life, his secrets, his past, and discover a new chance at family, love, and closure. He will not only face his own demons, but Snape’s as well, and will be shocked to find what and who lies at the center of it all. To make everything right, he will have to visit the past and cross a transformative threshold to the new beginning that he and Draco deserve.

A/N: You do not have to read Unbearable Draco and Masterpiece Severus in order to enjoy this story, but it helps. This novel is not like those. Draco's "book" was brutally fast, but with an emphasis on inner beauty and strength. Snape's is a dark and haunting "anti-love" affair with James Potter, with a slower pace and exploration of his private struggle. In Harry's book, everything has slowed down to allow for healing for everyone. With all that I want to show you, you'll see why that is in the end. Trust me. Thank you.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16752724/chapters/39302560

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**Graphic Art credits and sources:**

The picture above is a composite creation put together by me, with the exception of the following details:

All Harry Potter characters are sourced from, and belong to Warner Bros.

The true source of the photo manip of Narcissa’s hair, has not been found. I am not the artistic creator of her hair, merely her position at the table. The image was supplied with Amber Goldsmith’s Question and Answer session at the following link: <https://www.quora.com/Why-was-Lucius-Malfoy-a-father-at-such-a-young-age-According-to-OotP-he-was-41-when-Draco-was-in-his-5th-year>


End file.
